


Vows of the Soul, Unbroken

by ChiwiTheKiwi



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: :(, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I die like a man, I'm Bad At Tagging, Minor References to Pain, Not Beta Read, Runaan and Gren are immortal, Self-Doubt, This fic is a call out to the writers because how dare they put Gren in That position while shackled, Whump, if they do die canon is officially an AU, they'll never die and I get to say this because I'm a psychic now, this is set during the time Gren and Runaan are alone and captive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-14 23:42:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16050992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChiwiTheKiwi/pseuds/ChiwiTheKiwi
Summary: “Before you wouldn't stop talking about getting out of your bindings; about escaping and putting that human in his place... Now you don't talk at all.”The ache in Gren's limbs feels like it's only doubled in intensity.“What changed?”Or: my short take on what Gren and Runaan discussed while alone as prisoners.





	Vows of the Soul, Unbroken

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so, I blame the creation of this one-shot completely on [Eva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/e_va/pseuds/e_va) and their genius mind that lead me to become entrapped in the idea of Runaan and Gren being friends through a lengthy discussion in their Discord server, so now you get this. 
> 
> This is ultimately one of my least favourite things that I've written so I guess I'm sorry in advance? The pacing is everywhere and while I _tried_ to salvage it, I might have just made it worse. Guess we'll just have to see, huh?
> 
> Another thing: since we know practically nothing about either of them so far, I made up a lot of stuff and used even more of Eva's headcanons because I'm a trash panda like that. 
> 
> My city now. (But also thank you for letting me use those Eva, I am always going to be indebted to you and your brilliant mind.)

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬  
  
  


Gren has grown used to the constant tug of the chains that encircle his wrists. The metal has probably long since left imprints in his skin for how long he's been left hanging here. His hands feel numb from the distinct lack of blood that's capable of traveling against gravity’s will. His legs are too tired to stand, and they've felt like they're in need of a good stretch for a while now, though he unfortunately doesn’t have the room required to really complete that endeavor. His eyes have remained closed for what could be hours now, too tired to stay open any longer. There's no distraction while his body refuses sleep in his current upright position. The air is musty and cold so far down, and he feels dirty due to how long he's been stuck here.

 

More than anything else, though, he feels like a complete  _ fool _ . He allowed himself into this situation, so now he has to pay for it. If he'd been any smarter, he would've known to be more untrusting and observant of Lord Viren, but his own incompetence ended up being his downfall.  _ Pathetic _ .

 

With how things are moving at this rate, he'll go insane in no time. He's tried to talk to the moonshadow elf countless times over, but he simply never gets a response. Somewhere along the way, he gave up; thought it better to save his energy rather than to waste his breath on someone who sees him in only the horrid light that’s been painted on humanity. Gren doesn't blame them for it, in their predicament. It was a human who started the war, humans who cut down their people with no sense of remorse, and now a human who had them trapped on enemy land, of which was trying to blackmail them out of some sort of information. 

 

Things could evidently be going a lot better. 

 

But that's when a consistent but soft, echoing sound reaches the man's ears. His mind is forcefully cleared away of the lasting fatigue and attempts to hone in on it. As his eyes crack open, he listens intently, turning his head as he looks to the source. 

 

It's not the sound of approaching footsteps on the spiral staircase, or the clattering of steel shifting and grinding along stone. It's definitely a voice, and Gren can think of only one person that could possibly be.

 

He blearily blinks his eyes as the echo shifts in keys and tones, careful to not move his arms as he does so despite how much more aware he is of the pain that strains at his joints. He tips his head backward until he’s leaning it against the cobbles behind him to hold it upright. Once settled, he focuses on it with a desperation he had no idea he might still have had. He listens to it as it filters from the corridor in the wall opposing him. At least now he's been able to identify it as a hum, and it's melodic in a way that's neither hopeful nor sinister. If anything, it’s melancholic. Belatedly, he finds himself practically drawn into the slow tune, unable to focus on anything else least he never hear it again. 

 

He loses himself in every note, the reverberations along the stone-walled dungeon making it sound almost angelic, in a way. Who knew moonshadow elves would have good taste in music?

 

Eventually the notes become strained and stop altogether. Gren shamefully almost finds himself frustrated over the loss, but the distant sound of a pained hiss and the shifting of metal reaches his ears. Concerned, Gren forces his legs to straighten under him, almost collapsing as he does so. He leans to his left and looks down the corridor at the partially closed door. There's between the door and its frame that allows a small amount of light to enter the otherwise dark room, but he still can't see the elf from his position. 

 

They must have heard him move in his chains, as now they've fallen completely silent again. With a deep intake of breath and his eyes burning despite his ill wishes, Gren recenters himself in his shackles and forces back the distinct overwhelming sensation of water filling his lungs. The silence is deafening, and now that he's heard something remotely pleasant in the past few days that wasn’t his own voice, and if only for less than a minute, he doesn't know if he could survive anymore hours without it. In all honesty, he feels devastated, hopeless even. There's nothing he could possibly do to dig himself out of the trench he's fallen into. With all the elements throwing dirt over him, the banks of the pit too steep to climb, there's no way he could really escape this. Even more pitifully, now he’s left picking at strands for any semblance of stability.

 

The situation is fated in his eventual demise, whether it be by Viren's hand or otherwise. 

 

“Are you… crying?”

 

Gren freezes. Slowly, he turns his head to the corridor where the voice had originated from. The sobs he’s now stifling back (of which he'd never even realised he’d let past his guard) die in his throat.

 

“I… I guess so,” he stutters in bafflement. His previous train of thought had very promptly derailed the moment the gruff, near silent string of words broke the quiet. The elf sounded just as confused themself — it's reassuring to know he isn't alone in that regard.

 

“Why is that?” 

 

Well, that's certainly a question. An odd one at that, but the elf is talking, and that means it's a distraction. They sound just as exhausted as he is, maybe even just as lost. 

 

He sniffs, keeping it as quiet as he possibly can. “... What is there not to get upset about, these days? The world is on the cusp of all-out war. My friend placed me in charge of a mission which I ultimately failed to achieve, which now likely has also put two innocent children in danger. I was entrapped down here because of a corrupt Lord who most likely plans on claiming the throne as his own and doing more harm than good. I'll consequently most likely also die down here by either exhaustion, hypothermia, or said Lord’s dark magic.” He laughs defeatedly into the hollowness of the room. “Hell, maybe I'll even get lucky and become a mindless slave to that coward. Who knows how far his power reaches at this point.”

 

The silence stretches, and for a moment, Gren fears the other might not respond. Then, a noise somewhere between understanding and even more confusion cascades lowly along the walls. 

 

“I thought soldiers weren't afraid of dying?”

 

Gren doesn't even have the mental awareness to hold back the bark of laughter that forces past his lips. “Everyone's gotta be afraid of something, and I'm really no fighter. I'm more of a talker, if that wasn't obvious already. Plus, I have people I’d much rather be able to live for. Don’t you?”

 

There's more silence until a hum of agreement drifts through the gap of the door. If Gren were any less fatigued, he would have thought it had a tone to it that could be described as fond. Nevertheless, his lips turn upward into a small smile, the tear tracks on his cheeks having already begun to dry. Of course, this is what he’d expected. No one is truly heartless; everyone knows someone who would want nothing more than to see them alive and well — even if that person has to be themselves.

 

“You've changed over the past few days…” The smile drops as he lowers his head to look to the corridor, listening. “When you first arrived, you wouldn't stop trying to talk to me. Even though I never responded, you talked. But two days ago… You stopped.” Gren grimaces. “Before you wouldn't stop talking about getting out of your bindings; about escaping and putting that human in his place. Now you don't talk at all.” 

 

The ache in Gren's limbs feels like it's only doubled in intensity.

 

“What changed?”

 

_ ‘Many things’  _ he wants to say. He doesn't in favour of biting his tongue, drifting in the bitterness that tears at the forefront of his mind.

 

“I don't know.” he admits, clenching his jaw. “Everything is just so far out of reach now.”

 

He's highly aware just how useless he is in confrontation, and words can only go so far. That's why Amaya is such a great friend, she's the warrior to his diplomat. While she can be independent and clash swords with those who oppose them, Gren can do nothing but be left in the dirt, cowering as he lies in wait for any sort of opportunity for either escape or intervention. He doesn't have any right being a commander, especially not when he's stuck in this mess.

 

“You've lost all hope, haven't you?”

 

This line of questioning probably won't help in the long run either.

 

He sighs into the cold, dejectedly letting his eyes slip closed. “So it would seem.”

 

“That's not very fair on yourself.”

 

“Maybe so, but it's the truth.”

 

They lapse into silence again, giving way to the sound of a draft that whistles as it moves along the staircase above. He rests his head against the wall again, the constant smile now long forgotten as defeat floods his consciousness. He finally lets his body relax again, legs aching from standing in the same position for too long. The chains tug at his wrists, though now he barely notices it, mind racing with the intrusive thoughts of longing and loss. The sound of his own slow moving heartbeat in his ears makes him wish he could hear the buzz of the castle’s courtyard, or even the sounds of horse hooves pounding along the stone and dirt. Anywhere could possibly be better than here.

 

“What is your name?” 

 

The visualisation of the world above dissipates in his mind as he opens his eyes. He stares at the cobbled floor his knees are too tauntingly close to touching as he hangs. As long as the elf isn’t quiet, he shouldn't be either.

 

“Gren.” he responds. When nothing follows, he starts again. “Aren’t you going to tell me yours?” 

 

“Have you not been listening to me and that human's conversations?”

 

Gren huffs. “I try not to eavesdrop on other people's discussions if it does not concern me. In my experiences, it only serves to work against you in future conflictions.”

 

A weak, short laugh echoes from the corridor. “That's the most honorable and wisest thing I've heard a human say in a long time.”

 

He can't help but blow air through his nose at that, cheek twitching in amusement.

 

“Runaan. My name is Runaan.”

 

“Well I'm just thankful that at least I'm not down here alone, Runaan,” Gren calls, a small burst of energy returning to his system. The relief in his tone doesn't go unnoticed.

 

“I believe... I feel the same way.” comes the response. 

 

Finally, it seems they're getting somewhere.

  
  


▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

 

“Runaan, can I ask you something?” 

 

They stopped talking for a while, both quickly becoming tired after such a short discussion. While Gren still was unable to sleep due to the way he's chained to the wall, he at least hopes the other was able to get some rest. A couple hours later, he finds himself needing a distraction again, because just one taste of social interaction isn’t enough when you've spent  _ days _ trying to achieve it. 

 

A faint hum of recognition drifts from the opening, a signal to continue.

 

“What was it that you were humming earlier? It wasn't like something I've ever heard before.”

 

There's a pause before an answer comes.

 

“I wouldn't doubt you wouldn't know it. It's a more…  _ traditional _ ceremonial song of the moonshadow elves.”

 

Gren finds himself quirking his head at this.

 

“Ceremonial? You mean as in for a celebration or an event?”

 

Another hum of confirmation reaches him.

 

“It’s sung by our warriors to honour our fallen brethren after a battle is fought. Whether we win or lose is irrelevant — we acknowledge their sacrifice either way.” 

 

That makes sense, he supposes. The song sounded neither mournful or high-spirited, like what he'd expect as a tribute more than an anthem. It feels all too appropriate to have thought of it in their situation.

 

“What about humans? Do you have anything to pay homage to the fallen? I haven’t done my research,” they sound both curious and bitter at the same time, if that's even possible. He nods, though, until he realises Runaan can't actually see him and puts his answer into speech.

 

“We do. There's usually a phase of mourning that the people go through once those who have died are buried. We all help each other along until we need to return to our duties.” He can't help but force a frustrated sigh through his nose. “Though, sometimes people seem to think that once that time to feel grief is over,  _ no one _ feels for their passing. It's like they forget people had families and friends they left behind.”

 

Silence follows and this time, he lets the conversation fizzle out.

  
  


▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

  
  


“Gren?” 

 

He blinks, startled out of his tired daze by the echo of his name in the emptiness of the dungeon. It couldn’t have been more than an hour since their last conversation, though time was tough to anticipate when below ground with an exhaustion that would sooner kill him than send him to sleep. Lifting his head, he turns his attention towards the corridor again. 

 

“Yes?”

 

“I… still fail to understand. Why  _ did _ you insist on trying to speak to me?”

 

That would require some honesty, but as long as they're stuck down here, and seeing as it’s the day (night?) of emotional heart-to-hearts, there really is nothing to lose.

 

“Originally, I was scared out of my mind. Who used to be the king's closest friend turned out to be doing some very…  _ questionable  _ things. I had been suddenly left with the task of finding said king’s now two orphan children. All the while, the world is ready to go to arms due to the circumstances that brought us here.” he replies. “I should probably start rethinking my career choices.”

 

“He says to the elven assassin,” echoes the voice, a thick layer of monotone coating it.

Gren laughs in surprise, smile spreading across his cheeks as he tries not to tug on the chains too hard. He thinks he even hears the elf make some noise of amusement in kind, though he’s finding it difficult to proces several things all at once. 

 

By the time his throat feels more parched than it already was, the exhaustion of the moment still in his system, he falls silent again. Runaan is the one to pick them back up in conversation from where they had left off previously. 

 

“So, you didn't even care that I was your sworn enemy and decided that I'd be a good conversationalist?”

 

Gren furrows his eyebrows, tone shifting to become sombre.

 

“I don't fault you for retaliating on us like you did. Humans did something that was horrible, and now everyone is left paying the price for it. But, I know that not all humans were responsible for what occurred, and the same goes for your people. We all have innocents who should have no part in this war.” He's sure that if he saw his face right now, it'd be near unrecognisable. “There are children who have and who  _ will  _ grow up in a world dominated by violence and terror on both sides of this conflict. I want nothing more than to spare them of something they never had a part in to begin with.

 

“Not even to mention how pointless this could all be in the end. It's all just developed into mindless chaos and destruction. We've all sacrificed so much, and for what reason? Pride and righteousness?” 

 

There's a long bout of silence, neither of them speaking for what seems like an eternity.

 

“Who is it that you want to live for, Gren?”

 

He inhales sharply as the question spurs a great deal of varied emotions. The suddenness of it makes his head spin, and he briefly wonders just how much company the elf has had that encourages impromptu questions like this. Memories flash by without warning, and suddenly there's silent tears gathering on his lashes again. 

 

His slow construction of a stable future with the help of his mother following his own father's death due to fatal illness. His rocky climb for purchase on the ladder as his mother also fell ill and later died as well, leaving him alone just before official training. Once he’d beaten the first portion of the race and moved to the next, he and Amaya first meeting as they worked for the Katolis army, only to be introduced to Sarai through her after few quick, consistent promotions. Becoming close to the royals throughout the years, enough so to even befriend the two sons. Invited to the wedding of the king and queen, the birthdays and anniversaries that followed, and then present at the funeral that marked a single father, all too familiar as he helped Harrow and the children grieve in their loss. The many thankful teary-eyed smiles he earned for all that he tried to do to lighten their burden. Friendly shoulder pats and the odd reassuring hug. 

 

He remembers it all with startling clarity, and as he utters the words, he finds himself drowning all over again.

 

“My family.”

 

It's through pure force of will alone that his voice doesn't break saying it, but the moment they're out, he devolves into a puddle of emotion, the pain of his arms straining against metal nothing compared to the guilt that creeps into every pore of his body. 

 

He consequently loses himself until the moment his tears run dry, and even then, he grieves for those he may never see again.

  
  


▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

  
  


He stares back at the dust-coated floor. Hair hanging down and overshadowing his eyes. He's at the point he can barely focus on anything, and his eyes keep drifting closed on their own. He has no idea what he could possibly do. He has to sleep soon somehow, in some way, or he's sure his brain will develop into mush.

 

But that's a problem for a future Gren to deal with. Right now, he still has questions.

 

“Runaan?”

 

There's the distant grinding of metal along stone again, and he thinks maybe the other is asleep and shifting in their bindings until a voice cuts through. 

 

“Yes, Gren?”

 

“Before, and I mean,  _ before _ before, you said you had someone you wanted to live for as well… Who's your reason?”

 

He doesn't question them as they fall silent, knowing that when he had been faced with the question himself, he had faltered much the same. That, or they refuse to talk about it, which he also wouldn't blame them for. No matter how much he wishes it, the two of them aren't friends, or at least not yet. They just simply understand each other's situation, both of them being held captive by a corrupted man of power. 

 

Yes, maybe Gren has lay himself just  _ a bit _ emotionally bare, but that's a part of his charm, and he's going to be knocking on death's door before he knows it. He might as well get all that pent up fear out sooner rather than late; before he’s already regretting it.

 

“I'm the same as you. I have a family I want to protect.”

 

Maybe he’d been a bit vague, earlier. His example of an answer to the question didn't pose much insight for the elf, so it's only fair he do the same.

 

“A similar calling, then.” he replies.

 

“It would appear so.”

 

While he wants to ask after it, it’d most likely end up in bad taste. Even so, it's still certainly heartwarming, enough even to bring a tired smile that splits the dirt, sweat, and dried tears that has collected on Gren’s face thus far. To know that his so-called sworn enemy cares deeply for whoever he may consider family is enough to make him think that he hopes they had a good life.

  
  


▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

  
  


“I refuse to die here.”

 

It's a quiet yet stern statement, and it completely takes Gren by surprise.

 

“You seem like you've already accepted death, and now I just feel like the tables have turned…”

 

He raises an eyebrow. “You mean you  _ aren't  _ already dead?”

 

“I thought you didn't eavesdrop.”

 

A snicker. “You did say it a lot. Made it kind of difficult  _ not  _ to.”

 

Runaan's grunt of frustration echoes along the walls. “That doesn't matter now. We can't give up here.”

 

Gren clenches his teeth together, trying to suppress the rising emotion. If he were anyone else, he would scream, shout, do anything and tell them just how hopeless it would be. But he can't do that, not even if he so much as attempted it in his current state.

 

“We're trapped here, Runaan. No one will be coming for us. What else can we do besides give up?” he forces every essence of his disbelief and dejection into his tone, and it comes out pushing him near tears. He's sure he would be crying again if he were actually able to.

 

“We can  _ live _ .”

 

Gren bares his teeth to the ground, forcing his eyes closed as he focuses on breathing. His first inhale is only successful in a pained hiss as the fingers on his right hand catch along the wall. He’d been oblivious to his weakly balled fists, forcing him to flinch away and pull at the restraints. He stills and refuses to speak as Runaan, for the first time since he was thrown down here, continues to speak into the silence.

 

“You said that in battle you live because you want to be there for your family,” there's an edge to their tone that he can't quite comprehend, “but why is that any different down here?”

 

“Because there  _ is no out _ Runaan, do you not see tha—”

 

_ “Then it's our job to make one!” _

 

Gren goes stock still, trying to process the words. He can hear the panting of the other, the exertion that went into their desperate scream ringing through the room long after. As if the cards had been switched decks, Gren has nearly no idea what to say while the other is instead all too knowing.

 

At least, he  _ nearly  _ doesn’t.

 

“... How?”

 

Silence follows for a short while, the elf thinking about this.

 

“In whatever way we can imagine. Any attempts of escape are better than waiting around anticipating our death. There's always a way.”

 

Gren was so sure he was all out of tears, and yet they rise to his eyes again. He's been proven wrong in more than one way since his imprisonment. 

 

However, Runaan is right — there has to be some way to get out of here. How, he isn't sure, but as long as one person believes in him, it just may not be so impossible. Amaya would have dragged him up the highest mountain and back by now if she knew how he'd been thinking. She never would have let him have such distressing thoughts.

 

He's a commander of the Katolis army, now, and that means he  _ is  _ capable. Even if it takes the help of his ex-enemy, they'll find a way out of here. No one deserves to die in this way, and no one deserves to have to grieve for those that do. 

 

He can't abandon everyone now, not when devastation was about to hit in the toughest wave yet. Gren would have to be there for the people, to try and lead them into a more optimistic future; maybe even peace would be possible, in time. And, maybe that peace would even start with himself and Runaan, if they just so happened to find each other on common ground one day. Either way, he wants to live to see to the end of this. 

 

It's as the light returns to his eyes, a hopeful smile and his remaining tears slipping down and falling to the stones below him, he thinks of what would be, and what  _ will be _ .

 

“You know, I don't think I'm the only that's changed during our time down here.”

 

Unknowingly, just past the door in the darkness of his own cell, Runaan is busy thinking the same way. The dim lighting that branches through the gap of the door feels as though it shines brighter, illuminating himself as he feels the backs of his eyes burn with an unfamiliar comfort. He sits in the dirt, head staring down at the floor as he thinks of his own family. His love, comrades and companions that he'd left behind so he could attend this mission. Not only that, but Gren had given him much to ponder. He doesn't think he could  _ ever _ truly be ready for death, not when he has someone so special awaiting his return. He can live to see through his own personal promise to come back alive to his family. As long as he's still breathing, he has something to fight for. 

 

“I think you're right.”

 

Runaan will cut down fate and replace it with the discarded pieces of a better future. 

 

And even later, when Gren hears his pained screams as they rapidly bounce from wall to wall, he stays silent, not willing to cause yet another sacrifice on the elf’s behalf. 

 

He remembers his words and allows them to ring true, even as a monster Gren thought he’d once understood stalks past him wordlessly to retreat back up the spiral staircase. In his lonesome, he does not call Runaan’s name, knowing there will be no answer.

 

But he remembers his words, and even in his tears, he makes a pledge.

 

_ I will find you and help you escape. The future will be ours for the taking —  _ all  _ of ours. _

 

 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

**Author's Note:**

> If you got through that, good job.
> 
> If I make anymore content for TDP it's probably going to be primarily Gren and/or Runaan. I just love my kids.
> 
> My Tumblr: [chiwithekiwi](https://chiwithekiwi.tumblr.com/)


End file.
